Keep Your Eyes Open
by dudeurfugly
Summary: World War II AU. The residents of Storybrooke feel the toll of war upon their sleepy town. As each of them are pushed further into their roles on the front lines and the home front, they start to learn the truth about who they really are.
1. Ruby: Part I

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just having fun. **

**A/N: Well, here it is-a Once Upon a Time WWII AU. It started out as a Mad Swan AU idea but then it morphed into a whole AU 'verse. Just a quick but IMPORTANT note: the fic will not be told in a linear fashion as far as time goes (for example, a chapter set during the war may come before a chapter about Pearl Harbor), but each character's storyline will have a beginning, middle, and end. All of it does take place in the 1940s, and there may be a chance of random one-shots thrown in there along the way. But all of it will be in this OUAT WWII AU 'verse. Once each character's storyline is introduced, I may be opening the floor up for requests within this 'verse as well. Anyway, I will stop rambling now. I hope you enjoy this! Let me know what you think! **

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**Ruby: Part I**

She owns the night. Once the sun dips below the horizon and darkness descends upon the sleepy coastal town of Storybrooke, Ruby feels more alive than she ever was. She loves the way the inky blue-black envelops the streets and paints a picture in shades of indigo. The night brings a promise and chases off the stress of being unable to make ends meet. Ruby is not afraid of the dark. She is its friend, its most intimate lover. With every sunset there's the prospect of an adventure yet unlived, an exhilarating sense of freedom—she doesn't have to be who she is when the brilliant golden rays are sweeping across town. The darkness embraces her and takes her for all her decisions, both good and bad.

Ruby is backstage at the only nightclub in town, touching up her makeup in the vanity mirror, working in dim light. One of the rounded bulbs above her flickers like the end of a firefly, buzzing with an electric purr. She can hear the brassy sounds of the band performing a mesmeric version of "Sing, Sing, Sing." The drumbeat hums along her skin and the wailing horn section awakens her senses, revs her up for her own performance. Ruby rakes a hand through her hair, brunette waves curled into Victory Rolls on her head, off to the side. The rest of her hair falls onto her shoulders in ringlets. She reapplies a layer of bright crimson lipstick, puckering her lips and smiling at her reflection with half-lidded eyes.

"Five minutes," the stagehand warns, poking his head into the room.

Ruby thanks him and he disappears, leaving her to those five minutes of solace before she embraces the side of her she loves more than anything else. She is about to bear her soul to the night. She isn't afraid or nervous, for she has done this many times before. It's oh so familiar and it feels like coming home. Ruby waits for the journey this night will bring. As always, she wishes for her dream to come into fruition—Ruby wants desperately to leave Storybrooke and sing overseas for the boys off fighting. She dreams of the day her voice can be carried over radio waves like the great female singers she tries to emulate beneath the stars. But she's trapped here, by strain of finances and the responsibility of looking after the only family she has left, her dear grandmother. So for now, this is her dream.

She stands and presses out invisible wrinkles in her dress, a red number that clings to her curves and accentuates her breasts. It's a halter-top with a sweetheart neckline, red with small white polka dots, and paired with matching red pumps. Ruby loves the way this dress makes her feel—self-assured, a little rebellious, and a part of the fantasy this blanket of darkness evokes in the human senses. The heels give her a few extra inches of height, adding definition to her calves and the rest of her legs. She is beautiful—a siren. Tonight, Ruby wishes to be wanted.

The song ends and suddenly her feet are carrying her up to the stage. She listens to the applause of the audience as it dissipates. Her heart pounds against her chest. She is so alive here, so content. Her hands are clasped around the microphone stand, tethering it to her like a lifeline, an extension of her being. The band's conductor announces her name and the velvet curtains part at the same time the lights onstage beat down onto her form. For a second she notices the specks of dust in the intense rays and finds it stunning.

From her perch on the stage she can make out the tables closest to the front, candles alight on their surfaces. The pungent aromas of cigarettes and alcohol fill her senses and the haze from the smoke looks like an entity in itself, engulfing the nightclub patrons in a mystifying aura. The club is all shadows and wood furnishings, sepia tones mixed with dark browns and off whites. There's flecks of red and blue in there somewhere, scattered about the cavernous room, and Ruby thinks it must be the table furnishings. Beyond this, the outlines of the people crowded in the nightclub come into view and Ruby takes them all in. They will be her companions on this journey, this adventure into another unknown night. Some of the faces she knows, others are just a faint familiarity. Either way, they are here like she is, ready to greet the dark hours and melt away real life for as long as they can manage to forget.

Ruby smiles and leans into the microphone. Her voice, sultry and dripping with honey, fills the room on the undulations of the band's music. She clings to the lyrics of "I'll Be Seeing You," a heartfelt tune with a romantic thread weaving its way through each and every note and word. Ruby's dark eyes flutter closed and she feels the weight of them in her chest, pushing her to sing with sincerity. Her thoughts are clouded with the images of every Storybrooke resident who has shipped off into foreign lands to fight in war. She thinks of their wives and fiancés and girlfriends who are struggling their own battles here, trying to be strong and brave, and has to hold back her emotions. The song ends with rousing applause and whistles. Ruby bows and thanks them before slipping into the next tune.

Five numbers later, there are couples on the dance floor swaying in each other's arms. The atmosphere is light even in the dark, and that's how Ruby likes it. Alcohol is flowing and the patrons are relaxed; laughter sings in the air and the wine she drank before the third song makes her head feel weightless. She sees stolen moments and kisses in the dim candlelight, hands with fingers intertwined and the intimacy of people sharing something that's so much stronger than themselves, something that makes the songs she sings have meaning.

Ruby catches the intense gaze of a soldier at a table in the front row and warmth spreads through her, lights her fingertips and toes on fire. She feels the pangs of desire, recognizable and very much welcomed, rising inside of her. He's all chiseled cheekbones and a strong jaw line, jet black hair and silent agreement on his lips. He is dressed in khaki, the tell-tale uniform of a soldier on leave. Ruby knows that tonight he is her answer, her adventure. She gives him a nod and discusses the last song with the band leader.

Returning to the microphone, she announces to the audience, "This final number is for the handsome fella in the front row."

She smiles and gestures with her index finger to the dark haired soldier whose chocolate brown eyes catch the candlelight. He smirks. The sleek grand piano on the stage, helmed by the band conductor, rings out its first sweet notes in a lulling melody. Ruby hums with it, revels in its dreamlike tone. Her voice is a clear soprano with a husky edge, tone laced with passion and longing. Her eyes never leave his. They are entranced. In this moment, she's singing to him and only him. Her wish of being wanted has come true.

_There's a somebody I'm longin' to see__  
__I hope that he, turns out to be__  
__Someone who'll watch over me_

_I'm a little lamb who's lost in the wood__  
__I know I could, always be good__  
__To one who'll watch over me_

_Although he may not be the man some__  
__Girls think of as handsome__  
__To my heart he carries the key_

_Won't you tell him please to put on some speed__  
__Follow my lead, oh, how I need__  
__Someone to watch over me_

The final song ends to a chorus of applause peppered with a few high-pitched whistles and catcalls. Others rise to their feet to offer their appreciation and approval, and Ruby knows she has taken them with her on this night. They will be here tomorrow or perhaps on the weekend to continue their nightly rituals. She feels the stranger's gaze upon her and basks in it before she exits the stage. She enters the cavern of the nightclub only once she's dabbed the sweat from her brow, fixed her lipstick, and refreshed herself with a bit of perfume—the kind that smells like wildflowers in the spring, a feral earthy scent that she adores and makes her the nocturnal creature she is.

Her freedom is just taking flight. She is going to dive headfirst into this with reckless abandon and hang onto the precious hours between dusk and dawn that have been left to her. She is going to enjoy this. Ruby wanders through the faces and outlines of people, a blur of flesh tones and color and muttered phrases she's heard many nights before. The face she wants she finally finds, still seated at his table with a cigarette dangling between his thumb and forefinger. He's slouching and his shirt is slightly unkempt, tie loosened. It only proves to make Ruby more eager.

An hour and two more glasses of wine later, Ruby is stumbling into Storybrooke's Bed and Breakfast—which is incidentally her home and her place of work and even more thankfully, a mere five minute walk from the nightclub. Her arm is hooked around the soldier's neck and his hair is already disheveled from her roving hands. She thinks his name is Peter but at this point neither of them care enough about remembering names.

His breath is hot on her neck and again her skin is alive, every nerve-ending alert. Ruby is used to this certain ritual; there's always at least one a week who follows her home. She doesn't remember their names, either, just the contact and passion and slivers of moonlight upon their bodies—mostly men, but a few women, too. Ruby doesn't care; each are warm and beautiful and help her fill the waning hours of her night with fervor.

They trip up the stairs, giggling, and Ruby takes him by the hand to her room down the hall. She wades through the shadows, the hues of indigo she holds so dearly, and drags him along for the ride. Peter kicks the bedroom door shut and the two of them tumble onto the bed. Here, there isn't so much night, but just enough—slats of the moon's silver fall upon the sheets and outline Peter's shoulders as Ruby peels the shirt off him. Her heels long gone, she crawls up on the bed beside him and captures his lips with a searing kiss. She is surprised by how his kisses feel, like they carry more weight than the others she's had before. There's something she adores about him, something that makes part of her dream for more nights to share by his side. It occurs to her that she's never had this thought before. It frightens her and entices her as she plants kisses along his jaw and down his neck.

Moments later, her dress is off and somewhere across the room with the rest of his clothes. Her bra and underwear follow, piling into a heap she won't care about until the sun comes up. Without his uniform, she muses quietly—trailing her kisses and sweeping her tongue over the sculpted planes of his chest and abdomen—he is simply a man, free for a day or two from his obligations, his duty to his country. And tonight, Peter is hers, body and soul.

As their bodies melt into each other and Ruby's polished nails find purchase in the muscles of his back, she decides that maybe she does want to share her adventures with him, show him the night landscape she has made herself queen of. Ruby wants to explain to him the beauty and magic of it while they lie in bed again or perhaps find each other's rhythms in the middle of the forest on the outskirts of Storybrooke. She wishes to wake up to dew on their bare flesh and the scent of flora and fauna completely drowning their senses. Ruby craves this with Peter for reasons she can't quite figure out.

They reach their end with each other's names on their lips, chests heaving. Ruby smiles at Peter, content, and does not leave the hold of his arms. Her curls splay across his torso, nimble fingers trace nonsense patterns like whispers along his exposed skin. Peter presses a kiss into the top of her head, and for once in a very long while, Ruby feels whole and safe and loved, with meaning. This is a night unlike any of the others in recent memory. It is unexpected and yet it she knows deep down it is right. Ruby wonders if this is really and truly what that little four letter word means, and thanks the hours of darkness between dusk and dawn for this gift. She thanks the night, her most faithful companion, for making room to let this man, Peter, into her life.


	2. Regina: Part I

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, just having fun. **

**A/N: Here is Regina and Daniel's chapter. Let me know what you think, if I should continue with this fic, etc. It encourages me to write!**

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**Regina: Part I**

He doesn't remember, and Regina prefers it that way. It's the reason why they're all here, why she swept them up in a wave of storm clouds and into this quiet town created out of the bedlam of her curse. Storybrooke, Maine is the only place she and Daniel can have a chance together without interruptions, where they can have their happy ending. He has no memory of the lands in which they were born and raised, no recollection of queens and kings and magic, or class divides and social obligations. All he has is an existence built upon their love. And it's enough for them both. Nothing else in the world matters to her except him and their future in Storybrooke.

Here, they have a wonderful house with a white picket fence around its perimeter and abundant apple trees in the backyard. They can take walks down Main Street to the soda fountain, holding hands without fear or panic. They are just two ordinary people sharing something beautiful, and Regina feels no traces of shame her mother had imposed upon her in their previous home. Finally, the prospect of marriage seems reasonable and exciting. Each day, she envisions their home a few years in the future, with children's giggles throughout the rooms and the rumble of small feet across the floors. She imagines herself and Daniel curled up in front of the hearth in each other's arms while Daniel reads stories to their children—stories they will never know are true.

These thoughts and more are circulating around Regina's head as she stands in front of the mirror in the foyer and tries to secure an iridescent pearl necklace. She struggles with the clasp, focused more on her and Daniel's future blossoming in her mind than the task at hand. Before she knows it, Daniel's warm fingers are ghosting along the nape of her neck. He locks the necklace with a small chuckle, breath on her ear. She studies his reflection in the mirror as he pushes aside her dark curls to press his lips on her tender skin. His arms wrap around her waist, strong sinewy forearms visible from the white shirt he's pushed up to his elbows. Only one strap of his suspenders has been pulled up onto his shoulder, as if he'd been in the midst of dressing before coming to her rescue. That thought combined with the sensation of Daniel's soft rosy lips kissing her collarbone makes Regina smile.

"Ready?" he whispers.

"Yes," she laughs. "Are _you_?"

His mouth captures her sensitive skin once more between the juncture of her neck and shoulder, tongue brushing across her flesh, eliciting a faint moan from her own lips. It sends a shiver through her entire being, makes her toes curl and her eyes close.

"Almost," Daniel replies.

He leaves her this time, forcing her eyes to open and her body to adjust to the sudden coolness the void has left. She wants more—she wants _him_, right in this moment; his experienced hands exploring, making her whimper and tug at the bed sheets. When she implies as such, Daniel merely grins and promises her what he has planned will be worth it, adding that perhaps when they return to the house, she'll get her wish. Regina watches Daniel slick back his chocolate brown tresses off his face before he sets his worn tweed cap atop his head.

They are in the car less than seven minutes later, a curved and somewhat bulbous-looking emerald green pickup truck that squeaks and groans over each pothole and dip in the road. Daniel navigates over the ice patches and the windshield wipers dash back and forth to keep the snowflakes from the glass. Regina watches them dance along the wind and collect on the passenger's window before melting. The truck weaves out of Storybrooke's center to the outskirts, an overcast sky above their heads framed by the outstretched tree branches like arms reaching toward the heavens. When Daniel stops the car and parks on the side of the road, Regina furrows her brow, puzzled; there's nothing around them but miles and miles of forest, quiet and devoid of its lush beauty.

"Here?" she asks.

"It's a bit of a walk," he explains. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all."

He moves to the passenger side door and opens it, taking Regina's hand to help her onto the pavement dusted with snow. She hooks her arm around his and they break through the invisible barrier of civilization into the wilds. Regina is awestruck by the beauty that surrounds them, even in the dead of winter—there's something picturesque about the black-and-white scene; monochromatic tree trunks against the sloping layer of fresh snow. An icy scent, mixed with dirt and wet bark, fills the air around them. They move as though Daniel has been here many a time before, and knowing him, he probably has. He helps her over downed tree trunks and carries her gloved hand in his.

Not once does Regina complain about the blisters on her toes from her boots, nor the trek that seems to last an hour or so. It's cold and there's a bitter wind that tugs strands of hair from her bobby pins, bites at her face and turns it red. She pulls her wool coat in closer and relishes in the body heat radiating from Daniel instead, bodies pressed close together. She likes the spontaneity and the happiness that fills her when she catches Daniel's smile or the way the snowflakes pepper his tweed cap. She has his hand in hers and that's all she needs, because she trusts him to know where they are going. Wherever Daniel takes her, she will always follow. They come upon a stream that flows lazily into the earth, clear water frozen over with a solid crystalline glaze.

"We're nearly there," Daniel promises.

They make the walk up a slight incline in the hills of powdery soft snow. At the crest, Regina beholds a sight that steals the breath from her lungs and makes her clap a hand to her mouth. She has never seen such a dazzling sight, never knew this existed in the depths of these woods. There's a waterfall tumbling over a cavern of rocks in the side of a hill, not very high, but high enough. In place of the rushing water, there is a gorgeous display of ice trapped in mid-air, as if the harsh cold has stopped time. The gigantic icicles have the appearance similar to molten wax dripping from the sides of a candle, a beautiful, awe-inspiring work of art. The trees that frame the base of the waterfall and the river it flows into are barren and their branches glisten with a fine layer of crystal. Regina has always thought the winter to be a cruel span of time, devoid of the magnificence of any other season. But standing there in the presence of such a natural masterpiece with Daniel's fingers woven between hers, she has a sudden change of heart. There is an untold splendor in the death of nature, as it begins the process of renewing itself.

She looks at Daniel, his face painted with an expression of wonder just the same as hers.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Daniel," she says. "It's beautiful."

In an instant, he goes from awestruck to nervous, his thumb tracing patterns across her knuckles. The cold has turned the tip of his nose and his fingers red, and he sniffles. Regina detects his anxiety and concern passes across her features for a fleeting moment.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says. "Nothing at all. I just…" He trails off, eyes wandering over her shoulder into the scenic winter landscape. He takes a deep breath and keeps his hand in hers. Daniel gets down on one knee in the slope of snow, light as a gathering of feathers underneath him.

"Regina," he starts, and sees the breath hitch in her throat, "Being with you makes me the happiest man alive. I know I don't have much, but…I love you, Regina." He searches around in his pocket and produces a gold ring, simple and yet elegant. It catches the weak sunlight and sparkles. "And I would be honored for you to be my wife."

Tears glisten in Regina's eyes, and she can hardly believe this is happening, can barely contain the joy welling up inside her chest. Her happy ending is more palpable than ever before. She doesn't even need a ring—all she wants is a lifetime with Daniel.

"Yes," she chokes out, "Of course I'll be your wife. I'm yours, Daniel. You've always had me."

A tear has made its way down her wind-chapped cheek, but she's smiling. She's more contented than she's been in a long time. He removes her glove and slips the ring onto her delicate finger. Regina wraps her arms around his neck and he lifts her feet off the ground as they kiss, a whirlwind of snow cascading from the clouds.

"I love you," Regina whispers, and she means it more than anything in the world, feels it in every last fiber of her being. She has never cared for another human being as much as she does for him.

They make the walk back to the truck with their arms laced behind each other's backs and their heads inclined toward one another, Regina's head resting against the crook of his arm. She tells him how she doesn't want an elaborate ceremony or a lavish gown, even when he insists it's no trouble at all. She says she would love it much more if they were married under the canopy of lilac trees at the base of the waterfall, with the sounds of rushing water as the melody to their marriage vows. He grins and tells her they'll be back here next summer to do just that, pressing a kiss into her snow-damp hair.

By the time they return to the house, a storm has kicked up and the streets of Storybrooke look like the interior of a snow globe. They are glad to be inside where the fire rages inside the hearth and tosses flickering shadows onto the walls. They are overjoyed to be curled up together, two people sharing one life, in promise and in love. Regina wants it to last forever and believes it will.

She doesn't anticipate what happens next, what brings her happy ending to a screeching halt and sends her life into a dizzying tailspin.

They're in the diner when the news breaks and an eerie, uneasy silence settles heavily over everyone. A chill runs down Regina's spine, face slack-jawed like the many patrons around her. No one moves but everyone listens, hanging onto every word.

_Yesterday, December 7, 1941—a date which will live in infamy—the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan…_

What Regina picks up is that there's been a bombing on a place called Pearl Harbor and with it, a significant amount of lives have been lost. She doesn't know where it is; it's as foreign to her as the land in which Storybrooke exists. But it still renders her speechless, especially once the President makes the declaration of war and she notices the spark in Daniel's eyes. It worries her.

"I'm going to enlist," Daniel announces a couple days after the President's address, when they're in the kitchen washing dishes from breakfast. Regina hates the way he says it, like it's nothing at all, like he could be discussing the weather or an article in the newspaper instead.

A plate slips from her hands and clatters to the bottom of the sink, splatters water onto the front of her blouse. She doesn't meet his eyes. It hurts too much.

"What?" she asks.

Regina's not sure if his statement is something her mind has made up, some cruel twist of fate. There's a fluttering in the pit of her stomach that threatens to overthrow the food she has eaten just about twenty minutes prior. Regina braces her hands against the sides of the sink and stares at the water running from the faucet. She has half a mind to turn it off, but she can't handle listening to the awful screaming that's seized her thoughts.

"The Navy," Daniel clarifies, as if it's supposed to make her feel any better, "I'm going to enlist."

Regina closes her eyes. "No," she chokes out. She hates how weak her voice sounds, how much it shakes. When she finally turns, her eyes fix upon the man she's loved more than life itself, the man whom she had created this existence for. "Daniel, you _can't_."

"I thought…" he suddenly looks defeated now, "I thought you'd be proud of me, Regina. I thought you'd support me." He approaches her, wraps his arms around her, but she refuses to look at him directly. She refuses to meet his gaze and picture him off in some foreign land she doesn't care very much about, putting their happy ending in jeopardy. It isn't supposed to be like this.

"You don't need to do anything to make me proud of you. I already am," she tells him. "You can't leave. I know you don't understand, but this _isn't_ your war to fight."

She wants to shake some sense into him, grab hold of his shoulders and make him see that none of this matters. All that does matter is Storybrooke and the vow they'd made to marry each other.

"I need to do this," Daniel says. "I want to be a part of it—something bigger than myself, something worth it. I know it'll be difficult, and I can't bear the thought of leaving you here—"

"So don't," Regina pleads. "You don't have to. We can stay here and get married, raise a family…"

"But that's exactly it," Daniel replies. "I'll have something to help bring me home. I'll have you waiting for me. And we will get married, I promise." He cups the side of her face in his palm and brushes away the tears that have fallen. "First thing when I return. Will you let me go?"

"Daniel…"

He just doesn't _understand_. And it pains her, leaves an already hollow aching feeling inside her body. She does not want him to go. Regina does not wish to spend her nights alone and in constant worry, wondering where he is and if he's all right. But she has to, because Daniel's stubborn and doesn't take opposition well. Regina has to believe she can let him go, and he will come back to her. She has to believe what they share is strong enough to protect them both and bring Daniel home.

"Please, Regina," he says.

"Yes," she answers at last. "I'll support you. I'll wait for you."

He presses a kiss onto her lips and rests his forehead against hers. "I _will_ come back to you, and we'll have the most beautiful wedding you could ever dream of."

"You can't break that promise."

"I won't."


End file.
